Clara slowly strolled into the living room. She was obviously unaware that I was sitting on the couch watching her because she stopped and faced away from me in front of the chair and mumbled at the wall for about 30 seconds, and then was startled when I called her name. Clara? I said. What are you talking about over there? She spun in a circle to face me with wide eyes, and then walked to the couch. What Daddy? I asked what you were talking about? You just keep repeating Grape Apple Apple, Grape Apple Apple over and over. Why are you doing that? She squinted her eyes in thought, Oh. Was I? Well, thats just what I say when Im thinking. She shrugged. What do you mean? You just repeat Grape Apple Apple over and over when you are thinking? Yeah. she said matter of factly. I just need something for my mouth to say to distract it while my brain it thinking. So, I say Grape Apple Apple Grape Apple Apple. I pat her on the arm. Oh. Is all I could come up with in my confusion. I see. I tousled her curly head of hair, and what were you thinking about? She scrunched up her nose and looked at the ceiling, Huh... I dont remember now. She smiled back at me sweetly and shrugged again. Okay. I said, and pretended to return to what I had been reading, but I looked up to watch her walk away. A few moments later, as she descended the stairs to the basement, I heard her softly return to her chant, Grape Apple Apple, Grape Apple Apple. Her voice slowly faded into the background noise like the puttering grape apple apple of a backfiring engine in a malfunctioning automaton. The purring grape apple apple of a robot that had never been programmed to properly mimic normal human life. A strange recreation of what a little girl should say and act like, probably rejected from the factory and deposited on our doorstep in frustration, so she can aimlessly wander our house seeking to be repaired, and instead finding only love for strange eccentricities.
Posted on: Wed, 17 Sep 2014 03:34:26 +0000
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